It's Sunday

How To Be Alone

[Tanya Davis]

If you are at first lonely, be patient.

If you’ve not been alone much, or if when you were, you weren’t okay with it, then just wait. 

You’ll find it’s fine to be alone once you’re embracing it.

We can start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library, where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books; you’re not supposed to talk much anyway so it’s safe there.

There is also the gym, if you’re shy, you can hang out with yourself and mirrors, you can put headphones in.

Then there’s public transportation, because we all gotta go places.

And there’s prayer and mediation, no one will think less if your hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation.

...

The rest of this awesome poem can be found here: http://lybio.net/tanya-davis-how-to-be-alone/poem/ or the awesome reading of the poem (Which is also incredibly beautiful): http://youtu.be/k7X7sZzSXYs

I think it's really amazing. And I wanna learn from it. 

Welcome To the Roller Coaster That Is My Emotions

Wheeeeeeeeeee!
I'm sure someday they'll use this blog as a textbook example of crazy girl disease PMS. Literally, in a textbook. I'm not sure what class they'll be teaching in the future (Robot... Class...?), but yes. I will go down in history as that crazy girl whose emotions ranged from Ecstatic ("I'm okay! I'm okay! And I go running and stuff!") to Completely Despondent ("I hate holidays. I used to have a boyfriend. And we had a christmas tree.").
I googled "PMS rollercoaster graph" because I can only assume that if I haven't drawn a picture of this, some crazy bitch on the internet has.
Sho' nuff! :

Accurate representation of what I like to call:

Rage Time

I probably should not have googled "roller coaster" because not only is that redundant when paired with "PMS" it turned up a lot of these:

Also induces nausea, coincidentally.

And then, in a sweet merging of the two:

I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. 

Okay, so this has officially become the most girly posting EVER. Let's talk about pap smears next. (Yes, I went there. Please guys, you don't even know what it even entails. Stop crying.)

Ah, no. Sorry. It's been a hard couple of weeks. 

I can't help but type: First world problems...

I'm so tired of myself. 

Happy Thanksgiving Ya'll

This Thanksgiving my mother and I decided to stray away from the traditional menu of gigantic turkey, sopping 'tatos with gravy and delicious rolls and try something... A little more classy.
But now that the day has arrived and I am stuffing tiny cornish game hens with wild rice and pomegranate seeds, I think, "Why the hell am I doing this? I LOVE GRAVY."
It's going to be good, you'll see. The only thing I'm hanging on to at this point in my life is my job and the fact that I'm losing weight like a mofo.
So Thanksgiving (aka The Eating Holiday) does not hold very much joy for me at the moment.
Don't get me wrong, the whole spending time with family thing is wonderful and I love them dearly...
But Thanksgiving and Christmas were always very couple-y holidays for me. I was shopping for my boyfriend like, months before Christmas. Collecting socks and dress shirts and fun novelty gifts to stow away in our closet (But down below where he wouldn't see). And this year...
Well this year I'm going to be spending a lot less money.
So that's nice.
SEEING THE SILVER LINING.
Ugh. I am so tired of being cheerful. (I know, you're like, when were you being cheerful? I missed this.) I just want to wallow in my little pond of depression and discontent over here. But my mom is making rolls and telling me how much she missed me, and my dog is next to me on the couch (Occasionally leaning over and licking my keyboard) and I just feel like a Grinch.
I guess the reason why we're making a new menu, new everything, is because everything is different this year.
My grandma is gone, my cousins are married, my sister and her family never come over for thanksgiving (She goes to her mom's; half sister you know.) and so it's just us. Mom, Dad, Katie and Brother. And Brother's Girlfriend. Who is incredibly silent, but very nice. Probably. Also include the random orphan assortment of neighbors that come over, awkwardly bringing boardgames without knowing that our family has almost NEVER played games involving boards (or tiny metal dogs, or wrenches or games involving apples). It's a good old time.
I don't sleep very well anymore. I had a dream the other night that I was in the house of my childhood, running door to door trying to lock them against the wolves and SHARKS that were gathered outside. According to a dream dictionary (Ugh, I know) that I was reading, wolves represent financial ruin, sharks represent an adversary and closed doors represent a missed opportunity. Though since I was closing the doors against the wolves and sharks, am I avoiding these things?
Or am I having crazy dreams that just mean I watch too much animal planet?

At the beginning of the summer when I was incredibly depressed and tired (I know, I've made such a leap forward!) I wrote a list of things that would make my life better.
1. Job
2. My own place
3. Boyfriend

Now I'm here, 2/3 and I feel ten times better then I did this summer, but I still don't feel great. I don't think those things are the things that will make me happy. (No comment on #3) I don't think changing the Thanksgiving menu will change my life (Except for the lack of weight gain).
I think I need a different list.

1. A Sense Of Purpose

I'm really hoping this is going to be our "end result" photo...

Right now they look like tiny, naked, baby heads and 

they're making me question my mortality. 

All Aloney

In an attempt to be completely honest, but not be cryptic or hurt anyone's feelings, I will say this:

(And this took about 15 attempts to get right)

I know I did the right thing, because I am not ready to have a boyfriend or commit fully to a relationship...

but. 

Man.

It sucks a lot.

Because you get to know people, right? And then you like so many things about them, and you get them. And they get you! And then suddenly they're not there, and you turn to say something funny to them, or you look at your phone every five minutes and... shit. 

You're a tiny little teenage girl again. Go put on My Chemical Romance and eat some cheetos to drown your sorrow you little bitch!

Well that wasn't cryptic at all! I'm sorry! I have very little patience for cryptic people so I try not to be myself. I guess long story short, which you may have already guessed: Seth and I are not so much with the dating anymore. My choice. Which was a good choice. But a hard, grown up choice that I'm finding hard not to regret. I'm just not ready to be a good girlfriend, and that was what he wanted. 

I thought when you made grown up choices, everyone was happier.

Or at least you got to have some like, some self satisfaction with making a better choice for everyone's feelings.

No. It just sucks. There is no satisfaction. 

There is only eating tacos alone at midnight. I'm going to resist the urge to post some poignant, sappy music video about regret and love and stuff. You're welcome. 

At least I'm not waiting in line for Twilight!

Thank. God. 

Draw Something Every Day

My new goal. No excuses, nothing special. Just draw something. I stayed up until 3 last night reading this book about Bill Watterson, the creator of Calvin and Hobbes. The book was so incredibly inspiring, and the funniest thing about it was that the author never even spoke to Bill Watterson. He's a complete recluse. He doesn't see any reason people should be interested in him as a person. He changed millions of lives with Calvin and Hobbes, a kid and his tiger, and he has no idea why people want to know him.
I hope that my art changes like, one person's life. Someday.

It's easy to draw a picture of my outfits. 

Today I am very autumnal, eating pho. It's that kind of day. 

Palm Talk

Day off today. The thing about me is, I am not so great at relaxing and doing nothing, as is usually a popular choice on one's day off.

I want a project, I want a purpose.

I have a couple brewing in my mind, but never put them into practice. That in itself drives me insane! I have these wonderful ideas,  but I can't set my mind to it because... Why?

I'm worried it won't work? I'd rather browse other people's wonderful ideas on the internet?

I had my palm read the other day. No, I did not pay 60 dollars and my firstborn child. And I don't normally believe in that kind of thing. I'm cynical enough to feel like I'm getting ripped off or tricked, but enough of a child to want to believe that my entire life is written on my skin. It's the most romantic thing I've ever heard; my body being it's own book.

As the creepy french lady bent over my left palm I struggled to keep a poker face. That's how they know, I thought, your facial expressions tell them they're on the right track!

"Mmm, you're very creative. Very artistic. Lots of ideas and passion, but you don't use it. It's right here, through your life line and love line. It's part of your life, but you don't DO anything with it. You need to use your art. You can't wait for things to HAPPEN to you. You must make them happen. You are a great communicator, but strong and in charge in love. You'll have many disappointments in love. You can't make love happen.

Listen, don't talk. Listening is better then talking. That is how you'll know him."

I was a little creeped out. Is it like a horoscope, and I'm hearing things I want to hear, or things that make sense to me?

Do better, be better. Follow your passion. I'm sorry lady palm reader; it's so hard when I'm in my bathrobe and there's leftover pizza in my fridge. 

It's About To Get Girly

Yeah, I'm gonna talk about weight, so if you're incredibly bored or irritated by this topic...
You're probably a man.

I recently had to visit the doctor for some lady issues (This makes me sound as though I am infertile, or frigid, like I visited Dr. Freud) and the nurse did the usual to prep me; take my blood pressure, ask me about my medical history... Asked me to step on that scale...

I hate those medical scales. The metallic, sinister sliding scale that tips wildly back and forth as if to say "WHOA BESSIE. SHOULD NOT HAVE EATEN THAT PIZZA!"
It's so judgy, that inanimate doctor's scale. I know, I'm getting all Cathy on you. I'm sorry.
So with the posture of a death row patient getting strapped into the chair, I step onto the scale.
And after some adjusting and poking, the nurse says:
"Okay! 158!"

Ladies and possible incredibly bored gentleman: I have not weighed in the 150's for like, three years. I have been trying to lose this freaking college weight the entire time I was in college!
For some reason I just thought all those jeans in my closet I hadn't been wearing just got magically comfortable. Or I had forgotten about them. I thought that since I was dating a guy that thought I was super hot it was just making me feel more super hot.
I mean, that helped.
But I actually am. I finally lost that stupid weight, I'm finally wearing the clothes I want to wear and feeling cute and buying hot underwear!
This should feel like a victory!
And it totally did, for like a day.

And now all I feel is anxiety about KEEPING the damn weight off! I thought there would be some relief, you know?! I thought once I lost this weight I've been crying about for years, YEARS, that I would breathe a sigh of relief and be happy!
I am happy, to some extent. But there is no magical cure. It is all in your head. The way you see yourself is all in your head.
I have brainwashed myself into thinking I need to change, and now that I actually have, I still can't be relieved and happy.
So that sucks.

In some other amazing news, I went to "The Glitter Sale" at Goodwill this week. If you don't know what the Glitter Sale is, you really should, because it will change your life.
If you're a big fan of fur and vintage clothing.
So perhaps a smaller percentage of you then I thought. But still!
From what I gather from the website explaining the sale, the employees of Goodwill hoard the really nice, vintage, big ticket items and hide them in a room all year. Then for two bloody, grueling days, they open up a completely separate building INSIDE Goodwill and allow too many people to line up outside to cram inside the building with a million other women with sharp elbows.
I came away with an evening coat from the 40's (Maybe?) with a fur collar. I'm a little torn about that fur, but mostly because I don't want paint thrown on me.
Please don't throw paint on me.
This dead animal feels so luxurious against my cheek...

100 little Asian ladies line up outside the Goodwill on Dearborn.


Wanda Jackson wrote the soundtrack to my life.
So interpret that how you will. 
FUjiyama!

Incredibly Introspective and Preachy

You know what's gross you guys? Right now I am at a coffee shop in Seattle.
Blogging.
In a scarf.
And you know I am drinking me a wet cappucino.
Despite this, me being out in the world with other people, sitting here on our computers together, I feel strangely disconnected. And I've been thinking a lot about why that is.
There was a time when people had journals, or diaries and they poured their bitter thoughts and feelings about unrequited love, or how fat their ass is, or how much they need to get laid right onto those little pages with the cartoon kittens on them.
These days we take those thoughts and feelings and vomit them out into the internet where strangers can read them and... What?
Judge you? Empathize with you? Feel smug in the knowledge that they are somehow better because they aren't feeling angst-y on that particular Tuesday?
And I don't know if it's healthy, or kind. Especially if you are writing about other people, as I tend to do.
It's this kind of self celebration that facebook and twitter and blogger all succeed with.
I guarantee that a person that writes "God today is a deep pit of despair and doom" on their facebook, will reply "Great! How are you?" to the age old question: How are you doing?

What is that? Why does the faceless facebook allow us freedom to be whiney and judgmental and bad without feeling any guilt about it?
Perhaps because when we post our status about how much our day sucked, we see a million other voices proclaiming the same thing on our "news feed".
EVERYONE'S DAY SUCKED.
If I wrote all the things down that I've ever written on facebook in an actual BOOK and left it at work, or a coffee shop, I would probably be mocked mercilessly for my diary.

Which brings us to this blog.
Sometimes I can be very catty and bitchy and bitter. These are the bad things (Oh just the tip of the iceberg really) about me. Sometimes I write about things, and then the next day I feel completely different and I wish wish wish I could have never written it. That's probably not healthy.
I guess when I started this blog I was really lonely, and really angry I was lonely.
I suppose that I also felt my life was in need of a theme.
"23 year old single in the city" seemed fun and witty and something people would want to read about. Something I wanted to write about.
But instead 23 has been incredibly hard and confusing. And not romantic or sassy single girl living at all.

It's been me; painting my walls and learning to hail a taxi and ride the bus and fix my leaky toilet.
So as much as it may pain you to hear this, I don't think that being single is my theme.
I think figuring out my theme is my theme?
(ITS SO DEEP)

So instead of writing about the failures of men, or okcupid or my romantic fantasies that involve a bookstore and coffee:
I am going to write about me. Living here! In this city. And yes, there will be some nods to men in my life as they come and go. That is probably inescapable.
But mostly it will be about how much I love Than Brothers, and the monorail even if it's full of tourists.
It will be about the color of all the trees in Queen Anne and the millions of colors of the leaves and the matching scarves of all the children around the fountain in the Seattle Center.
I want to explore everything, and connect with people. I want to meet everyone and write about everything I see that I love, and some things that I don't.

I want to write about it if you want to read about it. Hell, I actually don't care if you're reading it. I'll write about it anyway.